


Calibration

by ArgylePirateWD



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Henry's 236th Birthday, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 12:20:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4828931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgylePirateWD/pseuds/ArgylePirateWD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly looks across Henry's chest into Jo's big, big eyes, and she wonders how this happened. As Jo splays a hand over Henry's heart, Molly places her hand atop Jo's, and Jo gives her a lazy smile that makes her breath catch in her throat. Oh, Molly knows how this all happened, but not <em>how</em>. Not how the soft, dry skin of Jo's hand beneath hers eases something tight and terrified inside her, not how Henry's lax grip on her shoulder as he sleeps makes her feel safe, not how seeing his other hand on Jo's arm makes her happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calibration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Books in the Blood (WholockHobbit88)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WholockHobbit88/gifts).



> Written for ionapayneismymistress on Tumblr, who wanted Morpaynez for the Henry Morgan's 236th birthday exchange. Hope you like it!

There are many ways to be vulnerable, and Molly is intimately familiar with most of them. Dragging someone to the glass-sharp edge of the breaking point through physical pain. Coaxing a secret from the tightest of lips. A well-timed comforting hand on a shoulder or back, or perhaps lower, while in the throes of something ragged and raw and real. Cutting your heart from your chest and handing it to someone who may crush it to dust beneath their heel.

Being familiar with the subject, though, is meaningless when it comes to vulnerability.

Molly looks across Henry's chest into Jo's big, big eyes, and she wonders how this happened. As Jo splays a hand over Henry's heart, Molly places her hand atop Jo's, and Jo gives her a lazy smile that makes her breath catch in her throat. Oh, Molly knows how this all happened, but not _how_. Not how the soft, dry skin of Jo's hand beneath hers eases something tight and terrified inside her, not how Henry's lax grip on her shoulder as he sleeps makes her feel safe, not how seeing his other hand on Jo's arm makes her happy.

"I wasn't expecting this," Jo says, voice quiet, barely disturbing the near-sacred silence around them. She looks golden in the lamp's light, beautiful and sweet in a languid sort of way, save for her deep and clever eyes. With a few more years, she could be as perceptive as Henry, if not more so. Molly thinks that should scare her. It doesn't, and it does.

With a teasing grin, Molly asks, "Not as many whips and chains as you thought?"

Jo huffs out a laugh. "To be honest, yeah. I kind of expected...I don't know. Something a little bit more sleazy, maybe?"

"Are you disappointed?" Molly isn't. She'd put her toys away for good if it meant she could hold on to this forever.

"Not at all." Jo turns over her hand and gives Molly's a squeeze, her callused fingers rough yet gentle. "I mean, you guys promised this would be serious, and it wouldn't be about sex and everything, but I'm not sure I believed you. Sorry."

"Apology accepted." Apology unnecessary. She forgave Jo's hesitance and misconceptions weeks ago, when all three of them kept fumbling in the metaphorical dark, trying to learn each other enough to fit together. "Polyamory" was new to Jo's and Henry's vocabulary, and though Molly had encountered it before through her work, she'd never tried it, either. Mistakes were made, on all their parts, but they kept fixing them, kept refusing to give up on each other and this.

Jo exhales, and her smile grows wider, her grip on Molly's hand tighter. "I thought I wouldn't like this," Jo says. "You. But...I do."

"I'm glad." Earning Jo's respect, Jo's affection, Jo's carefully-guarded fragility was far from easy. None of them liked letting people open the the steel cages that surrounded their hearts like another set of ribs. But Jo has let Molly touch her, let Molly drink in smooth skin and ragged scars with her fingertips, lick the salty sweat off the jut of her collarbone and the taut flesh of her belly, slide fingers deep inside her, wash away the lingering taste of Henry in her mouth with a filthy kiss. She hasn't pushed Molly away, is still bridging the gap between them with clasped hands and fond eyes. There are a thousand ways Molly could destroy her, or Jo could destroy Molly, but neither of them will. Jo seems to understand the power of that, too.

"I like you, too," Molly says. _I think I'll love you someday_ , she doesn't. The Jo Martinez under the badge and the gun is easy to care about, easy to love, in a different way than Henry. Henry's emotions are obvious most of the time, hardly concealed by the suits and scarves and charm, but Jo carries hers deeper, and is much closer to healing than Henry. His soul is naked and bleeding when you find it. Jo's is covered in stitches and bandages.

Molly's—well, Molly doesn't like looking too closely at her own. She'd like to think it's closer to Jo's, but she stills feel the air on the seeping wounds sometimes. She admires the strength it takes to confront the pain and help it heal, admires Jo for facing it and coming out stronger. Admires Henry, too, for not letting it wreck him beyond repair, for finally letting them see.

Admiration and vulnerability aren't all. In between, there's the amusing grimace then reluctant acceptance on Henry's face when fed microwave popcorn. There's Jo's bare feet on the coffee table, then in Molly's lap when she reluctantly lets Molly paint her toenails bright pink. Henry's deep chuckle when he declines Molly's offer to paint his. Leaning onto each other as they watch movies on Jo's couch, no one saying a thing when Henry cries the most at the ends.

There's coffee and breakfast in the mornings, tea when any of them are so inclined. Molly rises late and makes horrible coffee, but Henry and Jo chug it down anyway. Jo burns everything she touches on the stove. Henry takes food seriously, always cooks with scientific precision, but doesn't complain too much when Molly tosses a handful of chocolate chips into the waffle batter or cheese into the scrambled eggs.

Talking—so much talking. Henry telling stories, grumbling good-naturedly whenever Abe pops in with an embarrassing detail. Jo complaining about idiot criminals. Molly skirting around her work and chatting about everything else instead, or demanding they talk through their issues after arguments. Listening, too, no matter what they choose to share. Revealing themselves, piece by piece, even when the pieces are hard to reveal.

Standing by the East River, wrapping Henry in a towel, turning the heat on in the car in the summer. Yelling about his recklessness, then her and Jo clutching him tight when the anger burns out. Keeping one of the world's biggest secrets, keeping him from running.

Quiet conversations and realizations in the afterglow. Giggles when Henry snores. An unspoken agreement not to pull away and grab their phones to record it, though he will never believe he does it without proof. Instead, Molly reaches out and tucks the strands of dark hair falling into Jo's face behind Jo's ear, then links their fingers together, giving away part of her heart as she does.

Molly doesn't know where this is going—none of them do—but she's going to hold on to it anyway.


End file.
